


with Virginian insight

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Aromantic James Madison, Asexual Character, Asexual James Madison, Asexual John Laurens, Asexuality, Coming out of the Closet, Fluff, Gen, Humor, James and John are unhealthily obsessed with Thomas and Alexander's love lives, LITERALLY, M/M, NaNoWriMo, Unresolved Sexual Tension, exasperated James Madison, exasperated John Laurens, the difficulties of finding a vacant closet in the White House, the unlikely Madison-Laurens alliance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8547151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: And Madison responds with Virginian insight: “Fuck him already.”or: aroace James Madison watches Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton gravitate towards each other on a collision course. He is torn between laughter and frustration, so he settles for both.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have officially advanced from three characters tops (one of which was mostly mentioned) to five characters. At this rate, I will actually learn how to include the Hamilsquad by the end of next month. I am badass.
> 
> Also, the story wasn't meant to be about matchmaking. It was meant to be about Madison passively observing the two dorks, but then James Madison met John Laurens and derailed the plot.

When James heard a crash out in the hallway, followed by curses and yelling, he resigned himself to another Hamilton vs Jefferson fight. He considered staying in his office, letting the two gentlemen sort it out between themselves, but he knew that the chances of that happening were about as big as Washington picking Jefferson's side over that of his favourite totally-not-his-son.

* * *

Separately, both Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton were outstanding and (more or less) mature individuals. Hamilton had one of the sharpest minds in the country, and the determination to implement his crazy but brilliant ideas into reality; together, those two traits made him nearly unstoppable. Jefferson had enough charisma to run for president if he wanted, and was one of very few individuals who could match Hamilton in terms of intelligence. He was unyielding once he settled on something.

Put these two together, however, and they resorted to the kind of squabbling that was typical of kindergarten-age children. It reminded James of an experiment his high school chemistry teacher once showed them – mix water with an acid, and everything either boiled over or outright exploded. He found it a fitting analogy, especially since everybody within a five-foot radius have long since learned to give the two a wide berth if they were shouting.

_Unstoppable force, meet immovable object._

Washington shared James' opinion regarding the two - he oftentimes sent Thomas and Alexander out of cabinet meetings on timeout, like a pair of children. To James' endless exasperation, he couldn't simply send his friends on a timeout, or, as John Laurens had once recommended, lock them in a closet.

James had met John Laurens by accident at a party where he was Thomas' plus one and John was Hamilton's. Of course, it did not take long for the two cabinet members to engage in a vociferous argument about something-or-other, which left James and John on the sidelines, watching the metaphorical train wreck. James went to find the alcohol, because there was no way he was enduring this sober. John was of a similar thought. They made small talk, which then led to getting to know each other.

James found that he actually enjoyed John's company. Although they did not share world views or opinions on most matters, James was willing to overlook that, having learned from Thomas and Alexander's mistakes. John followed his line of sight and snickered at the sight of Alexander, who was now flailing his arms, gesticulating something. “They really are a pair, aren't they?” he remarked with exasperation.

“I don't know what Thomas sees in Hamilton, honestly,” James sighed, then, remembering who John was, started to backtrack, lest his new acquaintance feels insulted. “I mean–“

John interrupted him with laughter. “I don't think I am the right person to ask,” he confessed. At James' inquiring look, he added, “I'm asexual.”

James stood up straighter as he focused his attention fully on John, who had suddenly become _much more interesting_. “What a coincidence. So am I.”

John's eyebrows disappeared under his hair line. “Really?” his voice wasn't quite disbelieving but very close to it. Statistically, he had a right to be – one in a hundred meets one in a hundred? It was not very likely to occur, except in tenth grade math problems. Still, James felt more than a tad insulted that John doubted his honesty.

“No, I'm just making fun of your sexuality,” James rolled his eyes. “I get off on that kind of stuff.”

John grinned. “And snarky, to boot,” he clinked his glass against James'. “I think this might be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“Or at least a therapy group for dealing with these two,” James indicated their friends, who seemed to start to attract unwanted attention from the other guests.

John sighed, having noticed the same. “Well, the peace was nice while it lasted,” he put down the glass and took out his phone. “May I have your phone number?” he inquired politely.

A number exchange later, James and John approached Thomas and Alexander respectively. By an unspoken agreement, they separated the arguing pair and dragged them off to opposing sides of the room, pointedly ignoring their protests.

* * *

James and John took up meeting in order to to talk about their hopelessly-in-love friends. They extended an invitation to President Washington, on the grounds that the man had to deal with his brilliant yet infantile cabinet members on a daily basis and deserved to vent to people who understood. Angelica Schuyler had somehow caught wind of the meetings, but, rather than scold them, she simply showed up one time with expensive wine in hand, and was unanimously accepted into the fold. As Press Secretary, she had to field at least two scandals involving the Secretaries of State and Treasury at any given moment, and she regaled them with previously-unheard tales.

As a result, James, John, Angelica, and Washington had bi-monthly meetings whose only express purpose was to drink ridiculously expensive wine, eat equally ridiculously expensive cheese, and complain about Hamilton and Jefferson. It was a good arrangement.

* * *

During one of their first conversations, James found out that John was just as exasperated with Hamilton as James was with Thomas, and that he would even be willing to socialize with Thomas if that meant that it would get Hamilton to shut up about Thomas' misguided opinions and fabulous hair (“Alexander's words, not mine,” John defended).

James could certainly relate. Only the other day, Thomas had stormed into James' office after a fight with Hamilton. The man was agitated, his face was flushed, though if it was with anger or something else entirely, James did not know, nor did he want to. Thomas, apparently, did not get the memo. "I mean, how unfair is it that such a moron could have so wonderful eyes? He really had the most charming eyes, such a stunning violet-blue."

James made agreeing noises, though in all honesty he didn't have a clue how Hamilton could be perceived as attractive. In moments like these, he was grateful that he had never felt any sort of physical attraction towards anyone because honestly, it seemed to be more trouble than it was worth.

“What do you find attractive in Hamilton?” James finally asked, when it seemed like Thomas had finished ranting.

Thomas threw up his hands. “I– everything,” he replied. “You know how it is, Jemmy.”

“No, I don't,” James rolled his eyes. “I'm asexual, remember? People are about as sexually attractive to me as a turtle.”

Thomas frowned. “Right,” he said in a voice that implied the opposite. James saw that it was a futile fight, so he switched topics.

"At least you've accepted your crush on Hamilton. That's progress," James continued insouciantly. He finished signing a document, then looking up at Thomas expectantly, as he knew that he would not get any work done while his friend was present.

If it had been possible, Thomas' cheeks would have reddened further. As it was, he ducked his head. "I am not," he mumbled.

James raised an eyebrow. "I _really_ hope that you are aware that you just spent two minutes waxing poetry about Hamilton's appearance. 'His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad'," he mimicked Thomas' voice. "You nerd. It's obvious to anyone who has eyes that you are crushing on Hamilton."

Thomas chanced a glance at James, then looked away again. James found it in equal parts ironic and hilarious that people thought that people thought he was the awkward one, when Thomas could, at the slightest provocation, clam up faster than one could say 'Alexander Hamilton', though he did his best to hide it behind a confident facade. Only James knew what that facade actually cost Thomas.

If he wanted to have any chance of this thing with Hamilton working out, Thomas needed to drop that facade. Unfortunately, James had no idea how he would go about doing that.

Time to brainstorm with John, then.

* * *

John's eyebrows had long since receded into his hairline, which was impressive considering John had kept his military haircut. “I must have misheard you, because I think you just said you want to play matchmaker to Alex and Jefferson,” he stated disbelievingly.

James winced. “Well, not in as many words, but essentially yes. God knows those two idiots aren't going to get a clue.”

John let out a breath. “Apart from the fact that you are essentially asking the two least-qualified people in the world to play matchmaker,” he started, “Alex still believes that Jefferson's behind his ruined dates."

“For the record, so do I. Thomas does not say anything explicitly, but he always comes home in a gleeful mood the evening before Hamilton makes a fuss about his latest conquest leaving him. It has happened too often to be a mere coincidence.”

John blinked. “You _live_ with Jefferson?” he asked, not willing to believe his own ears. “How can you stand the guy for any extended periods of time?”

“I frequently ask myself that very question,” James replied dryly. “Don't get me wrong, Thomas is very compassionate once you get to know him, but he can be so very nosy that I get the urge to punch him in said facial adornment.”

“If we do manage this, we really should be awarded a medal for, I don't know, service to this country,” John mused, now seeming to seriously consider the idea.

“Do you have any ideas on how we could ease our collective suffering?”

John shrugged. “Well, we could do the classic trick and lock them inside a closet – let nature take its course, so to speak.”

James gave it some thought, then shook his head. “That could work, but it is equally possible that they simply start to brawl, and I have it on good authority that they had already filled their fight quota for the month.”

John tilted his head bemusedly. “They have a fight quota?” he wondered.

James smirked. “Angelica somehow keeps tabs on them, though I have no clue how she manages that.”

“So, the closet idea is out,” John summarized. “Do you have a better idea?”

James gazed at the ceiling emptily as his mind created and discarded several plans in the span of a second, before settling on one that actually had a chance of working. It also had a chance of back-firing, but it would be on a smaller scale. “Actually, I do. Say, how well do you know Hamilton's writing style?”

He told John his plan. By the time he finished, John was grinning outright.

* * *

Alexander stormed to Jefferson's office. That the Virginian had the nerve! Was he really so self-absorbed that he thought that it was acceptable to play with other people's emotions? Well, Alexander would show him.

He barged in to Jefferson's office, ignoring his assistant's cry of outrage. He slammed the paper on Jefferson's desk. “Is this some kind of sick game to you?” he demanded. “You cold-hearted son of a bitch!”

Jefferson scowled. “I would appreciate it if you did not insult my mother in my office, and that you would learn to knock, though the latter is probably too great a demand.”

“Answer me, damnit!” Alexander snarled.

Jefferson gingerly picked up the paper, holding it away from him like he was afraid it would bite him. He read the letter out loud.

_Dear Alexander,_

_I don't know how to ease you into this subject gently, so forgive me for being direct: I am in love with you. I have been for a long time. You are the single most amazing person I have had the pleasure to encounter. You are intelligent and tireless and never give in if you believe you're doing the right thing. My fights with you stem from the fact that I know you feel nothing but contempt for me. If I can't be your friend, I will be your enemy. At least I keep you in my life._

_I will no longer be a coward. I am admitting my feelings to you, even at the cost of them being ridiculed – though I sincerely hope that you will be a better man and not use them against me in our future arguments._

_Yours fondly,  
T. Jefferson, Secretary of State_

Alexander waited while Jefferson finished the letter. The Secretary of State frowned at the letter. “I didn't write this!” he objected loudly, his face heating up. He was grateful that his dark complexion made his blush nearly unnoticeable.

“I see,” Alexander eventually replied.

“I'm not– I haven't–“ Jefferson stammered, struggled to find words, while Alexander watched with amusement. “I'm not in love with you! Are you _really_ so narcissistic as to think I'd waste my time pranking you with a love letter?” he asked incredulously.

“Well,” Alexander scoffed, “it seems just like something you would do. I would never sink to drawing amusement from playing with other people's feelings.”

Jefferson's eyes were gleaming with an indiscernible feeling, though the ever-present smirk adorned his lips. “Funny that you should mention it,” he began, unlocking a drawer and retrieving a piece of paper, “because I recently received a similar letter,” he offered it to Alexander, who skimmed its contents.

_Dear Thomas,_

_I need to confess something, though I know not how to do it in person. My emotions towards you have long been conflicted – though I find your opinions and reasoning to be fallacious, you have nevertheless captured my affections in an unprecedented way, and I am powerless to stop you. You have wormed a way into my heart._

_In simple terms, I am hopelessly in love with you, Thomas Jefferson. I have been since we first met years ago. You stimulated me mentally as well as physically when we first argued about my financial plan, and you have continued to do so ever since._

_Nowadays, I continue to argue with you because it is better to be your enemy than to be nothing to you. I do not think that my heart would be able to bear being discarded by you as unimportant, and if our ardent dissensions are the only way I can remain in your life, then so be it._

_Nevertheless, my very heart and soul sing for you, and I desire to become something more than adversaries. You do not need to feel obliged to pursue anything with me if you do not desire me, but I beseech that you do not take advantage of my affections towards you if you do not reciprocate them._

_Yours, now and always,  
Alexander Hamilton_

By the time Alexander finished reading it, he was blushing as well. Whoever had written this was very open about what they had hoped to accomplish. Not that he has not imagined himself and Jefferson in such scenarios, but those were just fantasies, right? They did not mean anything.

“They were very accurate in imitating my writing style,” he finally conceded, “though I would never write a letter like _that_ , least of all to you. I hate you with all my heart,” he felt the need to reiterate, though the words felt wrong in his mouth. This was exactly the kind of letter he would write, had be not been terrified of Jefferson's rejection.

He watched as Jefferson's face shifted, briefly showing a hint of… disappointment? Alexander was hard-pressed to understand why Jefferson would be disappointed in Alexander's apparent hatred. After all, he felt similarly towards Alexander. Was he simply dismayed that he couldn't use Alexander's feelings against him?

Thomas Jefferson was a wretched and good-for-nothing scumbag. Why, then, could Alexander not get him out of his head? It infuriated Alexander to no end.

“Since it is clear that neither of us wrote the letters,” Jefferson spoke, and Alexander terminated his line of thought and focused on the Virginian's words, “the logical conclusion is that we have been pranked.”

Alexander huffed. “Hilarious,” he said laconically.

“They probably thought it would be funny to see how we react, since our feud is near-legendary,” Jefferson continued thoughtfully.

“The perpetrator has to be someone who was present during our first argument, and who is presumably present at the White House even now,” Alexander said slowly.

Jefferson snorted derisively. “That is _splendid_. That leaves the entire White House staff as possible culprits, not to mention half of Congress, as we had a few attending Congressmen who then spread the word.”

Alexander threw himself down onto the chair in front of Jefferson's desk. “Then we are back to square one,” he groaned.

“'Of course, Secretary Hamilton, by all means, do sit down,'” Jefferson imitated Washington's jovial voice.

Alexander rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Jefferson,” he retorted.

“A truly witty insult,” Jefferson shot back. “You must have spent days thinking it up.”

“Whoever said you were a gentleman has obviously never met you.”

“Ouch, what a burn. I may never recover,” Jefferson's smirk grew. Alexander was mesmerized with Jefferson's lips, they way the light hit them _just right;_ Jefferson's voice, as smooth as silk, was produced by those lips.

… Still not in love with Jefferson. He was _not_ , damnit. Fuck the world, fuck those letters for awakening his buried thoughts, and most of all, fuck Jefferson for being so irresistible.

He was vaguely concerned with how much _certain body parts_ approved of the last idea. His heartbeat elevated. He could not stay here, would not give prankster the satisfaction of being right because _they were not_. Jefferson was his nemesis, as simple as that. What they had was enough, it was good and comfortable, and he could always fall back on their banter. He could not bear to lose it.

He abruptly stood up, accidentally knocking down the chair. Jefferson rolled his eyes and commented idly on his clumsiness. Alexander ignored him. “As lovely as this chat has been, I have better things to do than sit here and listen as you spew stale insults,” he hurried out of Jefferson's office without so much as a goodbye.

Alexander rounded a corner, hurrying back to his office, and literally ran into James Madison. The stack of papers that Madison has been carrying were scattered around the floor, as was Alexander. Madison stumbled but somehow stayed upright. “Watch where you're going, Hamilton. You might seriously injure someone, one of these days,” Madison cautioned.

Alexander rubbed a palm against his forehead, trying to forestall the headache he could feel coming. “Sorry, Congressman,” he replied wearily.

Madison surveyed him with concern. “Are you sure you're alright, Mr Secretary?"

Alexander stood up and dismissed his concerns with the hand that wasn't resting on his temple. “I am fine. Jefferson is in his office, if you are looking for him,” he added.

Madison observed him for a moment longer. “If you're sure,” he said skeptically.

“I am,” Alexander insisted, then fled the scene before Madison could ask more questions.

Once in his office, Alexander leaned his forehead against a wall and tried to calm himself. His heartbeat was still elevated – as was another region located further south. “Well, fuck,” he summarized.

* * *

“Well, that could have gone better.”

"You don't say," James deadpanned.

John glared. “At least the thought is planted in their minds,” he reflected, “and they will undoubtedly work together to discover the wrongdoer.

James grunted. “I admire your optimism,” he said in a tone that implied he did everything but.

“Somebody has to counterbalance your perpetual pessimism. Now, can we finally lock them in a closet?” John asked.

James sighed. “No. Let's book them a restaurant, send them anonymous invitations, and hope they don't storm off in a fuss.”

"And how is this idea any better than mine?"

"Because it doesn't involve collateral damage. Hopefully," James added, as several scenarios appeared unbidden in his head.

John snorted. “Have you _met_ Alexander?” he retorted. “Or Jefferson, for the matter?”

“Yes, I have, which is why it has to be a French restaurant, otherwise Thomas won't come. It has to be fancy but not too expensive, because Hamilton is still very conscious about money. Preferably situated on a high floor because the view is spectacular, but there are very few restaurants in D.C. that fit the requirements.”

John stared. “That's… oddly specific,” he finally spoke. “You have thought about this for a while, haven't you?”

James shrugged. “I need some entertainment during cabinet meetings,” he offered as an explanation. "The novelty of watching Thomas and Hamilton at each other's throats tends to wear off after the first week."

“Yeah, about that,” his co-conspirator frowned. “Why are you even attending those things?”

James winced. “For some reason, I was voted to be one of the two Congressional representatives, most likely due to my long friendship with Thomas. Anyway, I propose Le Diplomate. The atmosphere is quaint, and the food is palatable. It doesn't give off the money vibe too strongly.”

“Le Diplomate?” John paused, looking for all the world as if he was debating whether or not to say something. “A bit too pretentious for my tastes, but Alex won't be bothered by that. I'm more worried that they will be banned from eating there in the future.”

“We will simply have to trust that they will behave more or less like adults,” James said decisively.

“More _less_ than _more_. The bigger question is: what do we do if they leave? John asked.

“I don't flaunt my wealth as much as Thomas does–“ James started before he was interrupted by John's unflattering remark.

“Nobody flaunts money as much as he does,” John muttered under his breath.

“But I have enough money that two paid-in-full dinners at Le Diplomate won't put a dent in my budget,” James went on. “I will make reservations for tomorrow evening, say seven. Write an anonymous note and make sure that Hamilton receives it. I'll do the rest.”

* * *

By sheer coincidence, Thomas arrived at precisely the same time as Hamilton. They regarded each other warily from across the parking.

"Are you trying to bribe your date with an expensive dinner? Is that how you convince them to sleep with you?" he taunted the immigrant, ignoring the twist in his stomach at his words. "How can you even afford Le Diplomate?"

Hamilton bristled. "I'll have you know that I didn't make the reservation, nor do I have a date – as far as I know, anyway. And we earn the exact same amount, Jefferson. If you can afford it, so can I – not that Le Diplomate would be my first choice, but it's not too bad."

A sneaking suspicion made his way into Thomas' mind. "Did you receive an anonymous note that said you have a reservation at Le Diplomate?" he asked, a theory already forming in his mind.

Hamilton nodded in bemusement, then his eyes widened in realization. "You think that it is the same person who sent the notes?" he breathed.

Thomas scoffed. "No, it's the _other_ creep that's been stalking us,” he said sarcastically.

Hamilton tensed up and turned to leave, but Thomas impulsively grabbed his wrist to stop him. Hamilton looked pointedly at their joined hands, and Thomas released his wrist as though burned. The pace where he had touched Hamilton's skin crackled, like lightning was racing under Thomas' skin.

When he looked up again, Hamilton was scrutinizing him with those unique violet-blue eyes of his. Thomas forced himself to smirk. "Aren't you curious about our mysterious benefactor?"

Hamilton considered this, then grinned. "Now that you mention it, yes. Let's discover what awaits us inside."

* * *

“Who made the reservations?” Hamilton demanded of the waiter as soon as they stated their names and were guided to a table by the window.

“I'm afraid we are not at liberty disclose that information, sir,” the waiter informed them promptly.

“And why not?” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

“Our client asked to remain anonymous,” she explained.

“Well, what _are_ you at liberty to tell us?” Thomas rolled his eyes.

“Your dinners are paid in full.”

At that, Hamilton did blink. “Our stalker is rich,” he muttered.

“That doesn't exactly narrow it down,” Thomas shrugged. “If they payed for it, who are we to waste free food?” he questioned. “Especially since it's Le Diplomate, the best French restaurant in town.”

It was Hamilton's turn to roll his eyes. “Of course you would go with French–“ he began before his thoughts ground to a halt. He turned around to face Thomas, excitement written all over his face. “Do you not see? This person, whoever they are, knows us. They know that you prefer French cuisine, they know that I do not like opulent restaurants, as evidenced by the atmosphere,” he gesticulated to the room at large, which resembled an old French café but was clearly renovated and kept in top condition. “This is not just some stranger whom we have met once. This is someone close to us, someone who knows us intimately. Maybe even one of our friends,” Hamilton concluded. They had now arrived at their table, and the waitress was waiting patiently for them to take their seats.

Thomas sighed internally, went around to draw out a chair for Hamilton, and indicated for him to sit. “The only friend I can think of whom we have in common is Ambassador Lafayette,” he said as he took his seat in front of Hamilton.

Hamilton grinned. “Do you really think that something like this would be beneath Laf? I have seen him pull off way weirder shit in college.”

“He does not have the vocabulary required to have written those letters,” Thomas countered.

Hamilton put up his index finger in the universal shushing motion. “Ah-uh, but that is where you err. He only pretends to search for English translations to maintain the appearance of a foreigner, because foreigners have much more freeway than native speakers do. In reality, his English is just as good as mine.”

“We will have to ask him tomorrow.”

“I doubt he would admit to it if it _had_ been him,” Hamilton cautioned.

“You'd be surprised at how much you can tell about a person by reading their body language rather than what they say, Hamilton. You should try it sometime,” Thomas retorted.

“Alexander,” Hamilton said.

Thomas blinked. “What?” he said smartly.

Hamilton shrugged. “If we are to spend the next several hours together, I would prefer it if you called me Alexander, Thomas. May I call you Thomas?” he asked.

Thomas considered the request, but at the end of the day, he could not see how it would harm him. “Sure,” he agreed.

Hamil– _Alexander_ started to peruse the menu. “Do you prefer white wine or red?” he asked absentmindedly.

“Red,” Thomas replied immediately.

“I knew you had no taste,” Alexander responded. “It's white wine or nothing.”

“If offered such a choice, I'd pick nothing,” Thomas smirked.

“You are _such_ a plebeian,” Alexander teased. He had a very nice smile, Thomas thought.

“Says the immigrant.”

“You bringing my background into an argument is a sure sign that I have won.”

Thomas groaned, though in jest. “You are insufferable.”

“I aim to please,” only after the words had left Alexander's mouth did he seem to realize that it had been a double entendre.

Thomas smirked. “By all means, do please me,” he said in a flirtatious tone.

Alexander's mouth was slightly agape, as if shocked that Thomas just flirted with him. He swiftly recovered and fired back a quick-witted reply. “Are you sure that you'd be able to take me at my most pleased?” This time, the double entendre was intended.

“'Hit me with your best shot,'” Thomas retorted.

Alexander laughed. “Okay, that one was just _horrible_.”

* * *

“It worked better than the first one,” John admitted, “and they actually got talking, or at least, it seemed so. But it wasn't enough. Can we get back to my original idea?”

“Fine,” James gave in. “My way didn't work. We tried it twice, and failed both times. We will do it your way, then.”

* * *

“I just had the strangest conversation with Alex,” Lafayette began lightly.

“Aren't they all?” John agreed, focusing on texting James and comparing data from their respective friend.

“He asked me whether I had written him a letter and signed it with Thomas' name. Thomas Jefferson's,” Lafayette clarified – as if there was another Thomas with whom Alexander worked. “You would not know about any of that, would you?” Lafayette's tone shifted to suspicious.

“I don't even know what you're talking about, Laf.”

* * *

“Thomas told me that he ate dinner with Alexander yesterday.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Really?” he replied laconically. “Well, he did say that he was going out yesterday, but he didn't specify that it was a date.”

“Thomas did not know that it was a date until he arrived at the restaurant, where Alexander was already waiting.”

“Alexander Hamilton asked Thomas out on a date?”

Lafayette shook his head. “No, and that is the oddest part – I encountered Thomas this morning, and he asked me whether I had made them reservations. You would not be, by any chance, involved in any of this?”

James put down his pen and looked into Lafayette's eyes seriously. “Of course not, Marquis, who do you think I am?”

* * *

Somehow, between Alexander's failed dates – which he still blames Jefferson for, by the way – and the fact that they had run out of consequential matters to argue about, they had resorted to bickering about trivial things like whether chocolate trumps ice cream (yes, Jefferson, it does), or dog vs cat (dog). The tone to their debates had changed as well. It had gradually shifted from genuinely hostile and insulting, to almost flirting, to definitely flirting after their accidental date at Le Diplomate. Sometimes, he could swear that he caught Thomas staring at his lips, but maybe that was just Alexander's imagination.

* * *

“Well, Phil, do you like–“

“Excuse me,” said a smooth voice from above Alexander's shoulder. He started and almost bumped his head into Thomas'. He turned to glare at Thomas, but he could not hold on to his anger for long, especially since Thomas had not actually done anything.

“Yes?” Alexander asked pointedly.

Thomas put a hand on Alexander's shoulder (which Alexander may or may not have leaned into), and addressed Phil: “Your date is over. My boyfriend and I are going home.”

 _Boyfriend?!_ Alexander's thoughts swirled chaotically.

“Boyfriend?!” Phil echoed Alexander's thoughts. He glared at Alexander and stood up, straightening his tuxedo. “You told me you were single, you asshole!”

“Well– yes, I am, but– Please sit down and listen–“

“Don't bother explaining,” Phil cut him off. “I don't want to hear it, Alexander,” he grabbed his coat.

“Look, there has been a major misunderstanding,” Alexander attempted to salvage the situation, but Phil shot him a glare.

“Yes, I seem to have misunderstood the situation. I thought you wanted to date me, where in reality, you just wanted me to be your mistress,” he said acidly. “Don't bother calling.”

With that, Phil exited the restaurant. Alexander glared at Thomas, who calmly took the vacated seat and looked to the world as though he owned the entire café. “Why did you do that?” he seethed.

“Because it's fun,” Thomas replied unconcernedly.

“You know, John told me that I was imagining that you had been scaring away my dates, but you actually have been doing that,” Alexander refrained from punching Thomas in his perfect nose. “I do not have sufficiently strong words to describe what kind of jerk you are.”

Love you too,” Thomas smirked. “In all honesty though, you deserve someone so much better than that bag of dicks,” he added seriously.

“Who, you?” Alexander scoffed. “Just in case you have forgotten, let me remind you: _I hate you_ to the deepest recesses of my heart. What part of it do you not understand?” he snapped, throwing his hands up. His eyes were blazing with an undefinable emotion.

“The part where you hate me,” Thomas flashed him a smile, showing off his teeth like he was in the middle of filming an advert for tooth paste. “I mean, come on, I'm great.”

“You suck,” Alexander stated, barely reigning in his anger. He rose from the table and went to settle the tab. Thomas followed him. “Go away.”

Thomas persisted in following him until they were outside, searching for their respective cars. Abruptly, Thomas turned on his spot, planted a short kiss to Alexander's lips, and hurried to his car, leaving Alexander in a mess of conflicting emotions and _still unable to find his own damn car._

* * *

Apparently it is not as easy as they make it seem in books and movies to lock two grown adults in a closet. For one, there has to be an unlocked closet, which there was woefully little of in the White House; for two, you would need to have a key to said closet, which limited their options further; and three, how did one even get two recalcitrant men into a closet? Do two people even fit inside a closet?

They do, although only barely, as James and John find out after several failed attempts. Honestly, they are surprised that Alexander and Thomas have not figured out that something was going on earlier. (Lafayette seemed to have his suspicions, though, so James and John made a point of avoiding the Frenchman.)

The final version of their plan involved sneaking sleeping pills into a decaf, or, in Thomas' case, that horrible liquid he called tea. It did the trick, although they had to hurry before the pills wore off, and dragging two unconscious men through the most secure building in the world while making it seem inconspicuous was not the easiest of tasks. Still, they accomplished it, and parked themselves outside to listen. It wasn't stalking, James reminded himself, merely making sure that all their energy would not go to waste.

It did not take long for the first of them to awaken, soon followed by the other.

“What are we doing here?” Alexander asked indignantly.

“I don't know, although I suspect that we were drugged,” Thomas offered.

Alexander sighed. “The stalker thing is no longer funny,” he muttered.

“You don't say,” Thomas deadpanned.

They were quiet for a moment, then Alexander said, “Move away from me. Your dick is poking me in the ass.”

“In case you haven't noticed, Hamilton,” Thomas growled, “we are locked in a fucking closet. There isn't anywhere for me to move. If there was, believe me, I would have before you woke up.”

Alexander sighed in irritation, but did not reply. Another silence stretched for all of thirty seconds before Alexander spoke again. “Why are you ruining all my dates?”

“I told you, because it's fun,” came the succinct answer.

“That is not an answer,” Alexander refuted his response. “That is classic avoidance.”

Thomas groaned. “Do you really want to know why, Hamilton?!” He raised his voice. “Because I love you, you obnoxious imbecile! I love you, and I hate it!”

Nobody spoke for ten seconds, then there was the rustle of clothes, the sound of a body hitting a wall, and kissing. Somebody, James was not sure who, moaned loudly. There was the sound of unzipping pants. James and John exchanged panicked glances, then, by an unspoken accord, quietly unlocked the door and bolted, because there were some things they just didn't need to hear.

* * *

When James returned to their shared apartment, Thomas was already there. He greeted James with an 'I kissed Alexander'. James blinked at the directness, then smiled. "I'm happy for you."

Thomas continued. “I kissed him, and then he blew me — and let me tell you, his mouth really _is_ as talented as it seems — and then I jerked him off, and he fucked me twice."

James winced. " _TMI_ , Thomas. I am happy for you and everything, but I really do not need to know about your love life. I'm happy that you came out of the closet, though,” he said dryly.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "That was the worst pun I have ever—" he trailed off as a thought occurred to him. "I never told you where I kissed Alexander! You sent the letters, you made that reservation, and you drugged us and locked us in that closet!" he accused.

During Thomas' tirade, James had been slowly inching towards the apartment door, having quickly grabbed his stuff. When Thomas finished, he bolted out of the door before Thomas could react or give chase.

* * *

James relished in the fact that he was a morning person and Thomas was not. For one, it gave him a little much-needed time alone in the morning to do all the things that he doesn't necessarily need Thomas looking over his shoulder for. Baking croissants was one such relaxing activity, responding to his private emails another. Don't get him wrong, he loved Thomas dearly, but his friend was simply too curious for his own good.

His phone buzzed with a text from John.

 _From: John Laurens_  
alex has two hickeys  
mission accomplished

 _To: John Laurens_  
thomas came home with three  
I really did not need to know that about alexander hamilton

 _From: John Laurens  
_ what did you THINK would happen if we put hypersexualized alex in a room with 'I'm in denial' jefferson?

 _To: John Laurens  
_ I sometimes wonder why I hang out with you

 _From: John Laurens  
_ because my matchmaking ways actually work, unlike yours

James was about to reply, when he heard footsteps heading down the stairs, and Thomas appeared in the doorway. His hair was sticking up in all directions, and his three hickeys – two on the neck and one, interestingly enough, on his shoulder, shone against his bare skin. Jame winced. “Put on a shirt, Thomas.”

Thomas flipped him off. “If I want to walk around naked in my own house, I will walk around naked in my own house. Besides, after the crap you pulled, you don't have a say in what I do or do not do,” he grunted.

James grinned. “You look so cute like that.”

Thomas froze in the process of making coffee. “Like what?”

“All sleep deprived and hating the world.”

“Go to hell, Jemmy.”

“Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.”

* * *

“Would you please stop having sex while I am trying to work?! I really don't need to hear the two of you go at it,” James complained loudly.

“Invest in earphones,” Hamilton retorted while Thomas smirked. "Or join us. It really works out either way."

James groaned. It looked to be a long day ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm listening to 'Burn' and I'm thinking angsty Jefferson/Madison next. Not entirely sure yet, though, considering that I don't have a plot. I am open to suggestions.


End file.
